Do Not Make Promises You Can Not Keep

I guess getting wounded is guaranteed as a rebel leader.

Being in the rebellion itself is granted to getting hurt.

Did Aloïsia suffer a lot while being part of it? How long did she last? She has always been a skilled fighter and a logical thinker. But even those qualities aren't guaranteed to have you survive in this world. Especially when you decided to tack along with the rebellions.

I hope her death was quick. I hope she didn't suffer.

But more than anything, I hope she is happy now.

I look away from his scar and back to the painting of the crying girl carrying the burdens of her dark reality with her crown. And just like the girl in the painting, my eyes start to water.

"I heard you cry and scream from back here," Dagon mumbles softly. I rub my tears away and shift my gaze back to him. He isn't looking at me. His gaze is entirely fixated on the mural in front of him. The same mural he has been obsessed with, it seems. He almost always stares at it with an expression that I can't quite place. The painting of a little girl playing with her Dad. Both of them have huge smiles on their faces.

It is a painting of one of my early memories. One I cherish, even when everything about that memory was a lie.

Both people in the painting are burned out and long gone.

The man in the painting... That wasn't my Dad. Not anymore, at least.

My Dad is gone. Well, the person that he used to be is gone. The goofball who loved to play, dance, laugh, and let me use his bare skin as my canvas to create my next "masterpiece". I would not exactly say that everything about him was a lie, but a lot of it was. My Dad was not an itinerant trader. He is the Dark King.

He is the reason people are suffering. He has killed thousands, maybe even millions, in his lifetime. But even if that is who he really is, I can not be more thankful of him for giving me a normal and, above all, happy childhood.

"I'm sorry."

I frown at the rebel leader when those two words leave his mouth.

"I'm sorry this has been your reality for the Mother knows how long. I'm sorry you had to go through that. Any of that." Dagon looks at me with another expression I can not place. But he looks genuine, at least.

I shrug nonchalantly. "You get used to the pain after twelve years."

Dagon shifts so he fully faces me. He places his hand on the big scar on his chest, right above his heart. "I promise you I'll get you free. No one deserves a life like this."

I laugh a breathy laugh. Dagon continues to stare me right in the eyes. His expression intense but, at the same time, soft. I tuck a lock of my hair back behind my ear and look down at him via my nose. "Do not make promises you can not keep." I soften my gaze. "Dagon, even if you are an Angr-Rebel-Leader-Dude, you do not have the power of the Gods in the palm of your hands."

I do not know what his power is exactly, but I do know it is beyond powerful. I can feel his power radiate from him in strong waves. He has to have a mighty gift for me to feel it this strongly. But how powerful he may be, it would not be enough. It would never be enough. No one, and I mean no one, is powerful enough to face my Father. Well, at least powerful enough to face my Father and come out as the victor.

Knowing Dad, he would let you fight him just for his own amusement. Maybe he even lets you wound him, giving you a bit of satisfying hope that winning against The Dark King is, in fact, possible. Only to perish moments later.

No one, not a single soul in five-hundred years, has been able to win a match against my Father. Not because they were not skilled or powerful enough. No, it is simply because my Father is unkillable. He can not die.

I do not know how it is possible that he just will not die. He is cheating death. The one thing that is guaranteed to happen to any living soul. Maybe it is an unbreakable spell that keeps him alive. A spell that even he does not know how to break.

I may not be good at reading expressions and deciphering what emotions go through someone, and I absolutely do not understand them. But I am no fool.

I know Father is not happy.

He has this longing in his dead eyes. And when he laughs, his smile never reaches his eyes like it does when Dorin or any other person laughs. Dorin and the others laugh with their eyes. Father only laughs with his mouth.

"You're right," Dagon pulls my attention back to him. "I don't possess that kind of power." Dagon moistens his lips and takes a deep breath before looking me back in the eye.

"But you do."